


Price of a Mile

by Monika-s Moniker (Dan_Francisco)



Series: The Sleepwalkers [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Drama, Gen, Ignatz paints in warzones, POV First Person, POV Third Person Limited, Starring Raphael as an avid photographer, Tanks replace Demonic Beasts, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_Francisco/pseuds/Monika-s%20Moniker
Summary: Once they were soldiers. Once they were young.
Series: The Sleepwalkers [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861168
Kudos: 1





	Price of a Mile

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning; this fic does spoil elements of a planned Golden Deer-centric WWI fic that I'm planning to write.

_Hamburg, Germany_

_March 14 th, 1933_

Today was special, and not just because it was Dad’s birthday. I couldn’t remember a single celebration that we’d spent so much time on or one where Mom let me bake the cake on my own. I’d even found a present for Dad, if you can believe that! No idea how Mom did this every year – gifting Dad things he never knew he wanted or needed and every year it’s a complete surprise. Dad never asked for much. He always said spending time with Mom and I was the best gift he could get.

I’m distracting myself, but honestly? There were so many distractions it was easy to lose track. Mom and I were making pretty much every food Dad has ever liked. His friends arrived in an endless parade. I could barely believe Dad knew _the_ Claude von Riegan and Hilda Goneril. Legends I’d read about in my history books, laughing and joking like anyone else right in my living room. Seeing them like that was so unlike the serious, stoic looks they had in the pictures. I’d lost count how many friends Dad had over, but the day really wasn’t complete without Aunt Maya. I thought she would have been here by now, but maybe she’d gotten delayed by something.

There was a knock on the door. Must have been Aunt Maya, so I went ahead and answered it. “Hey, Aunt Maya!”

“Hey there!” she said, immediately hugging me. “It’s been so long since I last saw you! How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. Oh, I baked the cake by myself this year! Do you want to see?”

Aunt Maya nodded and followed me into the kitchen. Mom had already gotten a head-start on decorating, not even taking her eyes off the cake to greet Aunt Maya when we came in.

“Hey, Maya,” Mom said, smiling as she finished another decoration. She looked at me just before going back to piping. “Would you find your father, please? We’re almost ready.”

“Did I miss dinner already?” Aunt Maya asked, genuinely sounding saddened. “Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to make myself fat on the cake!”

Dad _had_ gone and disappeared, hadn’t he? I’d gone and spent so much time helping Mom with the cake I’d forgotten to even get his gift for him. Well, I can grab it after I find him. “Sure thing, Mom,” I said.

I headed to the living room first, where all of Dad’s friends were. I didn’t hear much of their conversation – a lot of it was about the war – before I quickly figured out Dad wasn’t here. No problem. He’d probably gone somewhere else. I checked his study – lot of his books and some art, but Dad was conspicuously absent. It didn’t look like he had even come _in_ here today. Checking out every other room in the house didn’t get me anywhere, so I had to go up to the second floor.

Dad had built an extension up here to hold “precious things” when I was twelve. I don’t think I’d ever been up here since he started building, come to think of it. He sometimes came up here for a few hours after long days at work, and always came down looking tired. The spiral staircase leading up was something Dad always said he liked the look of, but I didn’t see much special about it. It was just plain brown, but maybe Dad liked the way it curled up so seamlessly.

“Dad?” I called as I came up. A dim orange light greeted me as I reached the top of the stairs. “Are you up here?” Dad’s shadow was on the wall, and I turned to the right to see him sitting at a desk. It was a pretty simple desk, but Dad was hunched over it. Was he staring at something? I couldn’t really tell. “Dad? Are you coming down? We’re ready for you to cut the cake.”

I moved closer to the desk. There were old black-and-white pictures scattered on it, next to some kind of bag made out of leather with a long, thin strap, and an even longer knife. Dad clutched one of the pictures in his hand, turning his head to look at me and smiling. “Oh, hi sweetie. I-I didn’t hear you come up.”

“It’s okay, Dad. These are… _wow._ These are incredible.” I took the time to look at each picture in detail. One was a field, maybe somewhere in Germany? Another had a huge gun aimed up at the sky. A third one had a perfect example of a peaceful house somewhere. The one Dad held had him and someone I didn’t recognize standing next to him, their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Dad said, slowly nodding and looking back at the picture. “It was an incredible time.”

I laughed, leaning on Dad’s shoulder. “You looked very handsome in that uniform.”

“Yes, this is…” Dad said, sighing wistfully. “An old friend of mine. You were named after him, you know.”

“Really?” I asked. “Where is he? I haven’t-”

“He… died during the war.”

My heart sank. Were all of Dad’s old war things up here? Was this why he came up to this room every so often, to remember and reflect? “I’m sorry, Dad. Take all the time you need.”

Dad shook his head, putting the picture down and gesturing to a nearby chair. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s time I told you what happened to him anyway.”

* * *

_Approximately 60km west of Straßburg, German Empire_

_November 8 th  , 1917 _

Winter had come early, very early in fact. Raphael looked out among the fields marred by years of combat and trenches dug up to support their vast defensive works. He’d been here since 1915 at least, keeping the French from breaking through and driving all the way to Berlin. At least, that’s what the officers said. Raphael couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a French attack. Maybe sometime in spring? Either way, he was just _bored._ He’d give anything to see some real action. Maybe the field kitchen had something good cooked up, and he could pass the time with some food.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” one of his soldiers said, tipping back his helmet.

“Morning, Wachsmuth!” Raphael said with a smile. “How goes it this morning?”

Wachsmuth glanced out behind him towards the snow-covered French plains. “Slow. When do we rotate back to the real world?”

This Raphael couldn’t much answer. Their unit had been on the front line for at least six months now, with promises – made, but not kept – of being sent back to the rear to give the soldiers a break. Without much in the way of fighting with the French, there was little to do other than sit and wait while each side’s artillery exchanged fire every so often. Raphael tried to keep their spirits up best he could by relaying stories from before the war, but most of his men freely admitted that they had forgotten that there _was_ a world outside of this war. He could see the skepticism in their faces when he talked about life at Garreg Mach or the times he went back home to visit his sister and grandfather. They couldn’t believe that what he was talking about truly was real. “I hope soon. Maybe our new Captain can tell us when he gets here.”

“Mmm, right, I forgot we were getting a new one,” Wachsmuth said, nodding. “How terrible of me to forget we lost Captain Schiffner just a week ago.”

It was actually a week and a half, but Raphael didn’t think he should correct Wachsmuth on that. Raphael considered losing Captain Schiffner a shame, really. He was a good guy and he always looked out for them, especially when times got tough. “Ah, don’t worry yourself over it. We’ll make it out of this alright!”

“Do you know his name?” Wachsmuth asked. “The new captain.”

Raphael shrugged, making his way down the trench. “We’ll find out together when he gets here, I guess!”

He headed down the trench through each step and turn passing by the ammunition dump, medical station, and the secondary trenches that lead to the reserve line before he reached the dining hall. A large concrete bunker stood over the dining hall, which was also concrete and partially concealed by the earth around it, as a sentinel to protect them from the French. He could smell the food cooking even from here. One of the other squads must have gone to the rear and hunted to supplement the otherwise bland food that the kitchens usually hauled around with them.

Raphael stepped down into the dining hall, where a group of officers surrounded somebody in the corner. He didn’t hear much over the commotion of the kitchen and the endless conversations around him, but he could have sworn he picked up something about showing a new person around. Was the new captain already here? Raphael shrugged. He’d meet the guy eventually, but now it was time to eat. He picked up some excellently-smoked meats, boiled potatoes and partially suspect bread and headed to find a nice spot to eat.

The food was well beyond what he’d been having lately. The _good_ cooks like Frosch and Jamroz must have been back, if this was anything to go by. If the French decided to stay in their trenches, then he could get used to this. He ate voraciously, eager to return for more when he was stopped on the way back. “Sergeant Kirsten! Just who I was looking for!” It was Lieutenant Falkenberg, already turning Raphael away from the food and towards the officers. “Come on, there’s someone who wants to meet you.”

“Me? Huh?” Raphael asked. “Oh, is this the new captain, _Frau Leutnant?_ ”

“Yes, he asked to see you specifically. He’s been here one day and you’re already in trouble with him, huh?”

Raphael laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, heck, I don’t know what I’ve even done wrong!”

The new officer stood up from his place at the table as Raphael approached, and in a flash Raphael realized he knew who this was. Sure, he’d grown taller, more confident in himself, and the officer’s uniform definitely was a stark difference from the uniform of Garreg Mach, but Raphael knew immediately that he was looking at Ignatz Victor. Raphael laughed, immediately wrapping Ignatz in a hug despite it breaking pretty much every military standard he could think of. “I can’t believe you’re here, Ignatz!”

“Of course I am,” Ignatz said, hugging back as strong as he could. “Someone has to look after you, after all!”

“Well, come on then!” Raphael said as he pulled Ignatz out of the dining hall. “I’ve gotta show you around! You’re taking charge here, right?”

Ignatz did not resist as he followed Raphael. The second they they hit the outside world, both of them put on their respective covers; Raphael with his steel helmet and Ignatz with his peaked officer’s cap. He didn’t seem to like the fit, judging by how he continually adjusted it on his head. “Well, yes. I’ve been told your previous captain was killed by a French marksman?”

“Yeah, we’re sure gonna miss him. Oh, hey, you’re gonna want a helmet like I’ve got,” Raphael tapped his helmet to emphasize his point as he led Ignatz down to the assembly trench. “We’ve got some spares in the barracks, I can find one for you later!”

The assembly trench wasn’t nearly as grand as the other ones. It was little more than a slope of dirt dug into the ground and only really used for grouping companies up before an attack. Other trenches were far more solid in their construction, featuring planks to keep their feet dry from mud and water that permanently settled in the trenches, and some even had roofs over them to protect them from artillery shells. In contrast to those the assembly trench was crude through and through. Ignatz marveled at the pockmarks caused by French grenades and rough nature of the trench for only a while before Raphael took him to the barracks. Ignatz didn’t put his helmet on quite yet, claiming he would change it out later.

“And here’s everyone!” Raphael said, bringing Ignatz to his squad’s assigned trench. “That’s _Unteroffizier_ Wachsmuth there. _Gefreiter_ Stanger’s the one with red hair, and we have _Soldaten_ Hoenigsberg, Scheerbart, Salzer and Rohmer!”

Ignatz stood with his mouth agape as he tried to smile, clearing his throat. “You have a very… _eclectic_ squad, Raphael.”

“Nah, we’re not electric,” Raphael said, shaking his head. “But we do have some lightning-fast attacks!”

Stanger rolled her eyes as she yawned. “I think he’s making fun of us, Sergeant.”

“No, not at all!” Ignatz cleared his throat and took one of the few empty seats left in the trench. “Actually, I’d like to talk to you and all the squads in the company. See if there’s anything I can do to make things a little easier around here.”

Raphael’s soldiers gave each other skeptical looks. “Anything you can do, huh?” Wachsmuth repeated. “How’s about getting us sent to the reserve trench?”

“I’ve been guarding for two days straight,” Stanger said as she dabbed at her brow with a dirty handkerchief. “Earlier, I imagined an entire battalion of steel monsters advancing across the plains in the freezing blizzard. Had to tell myself there’s no such thing, that I’m just tired, and the stories the others tell of these machines are just scare tactics invented by the French.”

Rohmer coughed, a heavy wheezing that sounded painful. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a month. Sick with something. I’d kill half the French army if it meant I could go home.”

“Hey, come on guys,” Raphael interrupted, shaking his head. “Ignatz can’t make the French go away, and I don’t think he can make sure we go to the reserve trench. We’re set to rotate back soon, so we’ll stand guard a few more days and that’ll be it, okay?”

“I don’t know Sergeant, it’d be nice to not worry about getting my head blown off by a French 75,” Hoenigsberg said as he shrugged.

“Oh my, the situation here is a bit more dire than I thought,” Ignatz surmised, a pained expression crossing his face. “Well, I do have some good news, though. The war is supposed to be over soon. I’m not sure if any of you read the military newspaper-”

A groan of exasperation emanated from Raphael’s squad as they threw their hands dismissively and shook their heads. Scheerbart literally spat on the ground while Salzer knocked on the wooden trench wall, shaking loose some snow that had settled upon it. “We’ve been fighting for three years now,” Wachsmuth snorted. “The end of the war isn’t real. The only thing that’s real out here is death.”

“No, I don’t buy it,” Salzer muttered. “This isn’t the end. Not in these hills, not today.”

“ _Generalfeldmarschall_ Goneril promised peace in January,” Wachsmuth added. “You ask me? Two more years of war, easily.”

Ignatz sighed, shaking his head. “I suppose that is a fair assessment. Well, I’ll keep you all in mind when the topic of troop rotations comes up. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, soldiers.” He rose quickly, making his way past Raphael and back towards the officer’s quarters. Guess some things never changed, huh? Raphael never did remember Ignatz at being good at handling conflict. Maybe he ought to go check on Ignatz, make sure he’s okay.

Ignatz’s room was still pretty bare, since he had only come in today. His personal bag lay on his bed, opened and revealing a few of the contents as he got to organizing his things and setting them out in the room. He had hung his hat on the coathanger already provided and regarded the helmet Raphael gave him with curiosity, like he never expected to have to wear one. “Hey, buddy,” Raphael said, knocking on the door frame. “I hope my guys didn’t spook you too much. We’re a pretty rough bunch, but I guess you figured that out.”

“Oh, no I don’t mind at all,” Ignatz replied. He lifted his head up with a warm smile on his face. “I shouldn’t be too surprised, in all honesty. Frontline combat does tend to wear on a soldier, and I don’t blame them for not believing that the war might be over soon.”

Raphael nodded, standing by as Ignatz continued to organize his things. He pulled all sorts of things from his bag; books, journals, painting supplies. None of these were real surprises to Raphael, but he _was_ intrigued by the picture frame Ignatz took out, setting right next to his bed. “Who’s that?” Raphael asked.

“Oh!” Ignatz exclaimed. “That’s my wife, Veronika. We got married just a few months ago, in fact.”

“What?!” Raphael spluttered, his mouth open as he furrowed his brow. “You went and got married and didn’t tell me?”

“I _wanted_ to invite you to the wedding,” Ignatz said. “Truth be told, Veronika’s friends and family made up most of the wedding party. There was news that the French might attack here, the Russians over there, so… well, many of our friends couldn’t make it.”

Raphael tilted his head, shrugging. “I didn’t hear anything about a French attack. Huh, weird. Well, anyway, tell me about her! What’s she like? I can tell she’s beautiful!”

“How do I even begin to describe her?” Ignatz said, his breaths quick and eyes wide. “She’s sweet, kind, one of the most amazing cooks I’ve ever met-”

“Oh, I _definitely_ have to meet her, then!”

Ignatz laughed as he nodded. “Yes, you will. When all of this is over, I promise we’ll go back to Hamburg together. You and I can hunt for dinner and Veronika would love to hear every story you have!”

Dinner, relaxing at Ignatz’s house, a good hunting trip… all of that sounded amazing right now. It’d be like the old times, before they went to Garreg Mach. Before this war started. Privately, Raphael had to share some of his soldier’s concerns – that the end of the war was a fantasy, that two more years was the most likely outcome. And yet… well, Ignatz always knew more than he did. “Hey, Ignatz. What you were saying about the paper; I haven’t really read it a lot lately. What did it say?”

“Oh, it was news from the Eastern Front. Our armies, and the armies of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, broke through the Russian defensive line at Smolensk. There’s still a lot of hard fighting ahead, but the door to Moscow is open. I can only hope that Tsar Dimitri will see reason and pursue peace soon.”

Raphael blinked, raising his eyebrows. “Wow, really? Huh, then the war might actually be over by January, huh?”

“I hope so, if only for the sake of all soldiers,” Ignatz said. “Please excuse me, Raphael, I really should sort my things out. There’s a staff meeting later.”

“Oh, yeah, of course Ignatz, no problem.” Raphael bowed out, heading back to his squad. _The end of the war._ It sounded nearly impossible but part of him couldn’t help but have faith in Ignatz. He’d never led Raphael wrong before and if he was here at the front then that was nothing but good news, right? Right.

* * *

_Approximately 60km west of Straßburg, German Empire_

_September 9 th, 1917_

Another day, another round of guarding. Raphael and his squad sat in their trench staring out at the unchanging vastness of the frozen plains, just waiting for the inevitable nothing to happen. It was Scheerbart’s turn to stand in their protected forward post, which was basically just a concrete bunker that had slits built into it to provide vision. The rest of the squad waited in the trench itself maintaining their weapons and on guard for any sort of alert. Salzer peeled off the socks underneath his boots, wincing as the last bit of wool left his foot. Raphael didn’t usually pay it much mind – he had his camera out today, debating whether to take pictures of anything or not.

“I think that trench foot I had in summer never went away,” Salzer muttered, rubbing at his swollen feet. “Hey, can you get trench foot when it’s cold?”

“Yeah, I got it last winter,” Hoenigsberg chimed in.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have such a problem if you actually changed your socks,” Stanger said. Raphael didn’t even know she was awake; he thought she was still deep in her nap.

Rohmer coughed as he looked down the trench, leaning forward for just a second. “Hey, look alive. Captain Victor’s heading our way.”

The squad stiffened up, if only a little, in anticipation of Ignatz’s arrival. Stanger sat up and put her helmet squarely back on her head, straightening out her tunic as Salzer put his socks and boots back on. Ignatz had on his helmet this time at least as he looked out among the slopes of the trenches and examined each sign placed on the walls. His smile radiated from his face as he neared them, offering only a short salute. “Good morning, everyone!”

“Morning, _Herr Hauptmann,_ ” Raphael and his squad said.

Ignatz took a deep breath like he was on a vacation. His eyes seemed like they were analyzing the battlefield for something, and Raphael just noticed he had what looked like a roll of paper tucked under his arm and a small box in the same hand. “This is a great morning,” he said, setting down his little box and roll of paper. He paused just as he bent down, looking intensely at Raphael. “When did you get a camera?”

“Oh, this thing?” Raphael asked, holding up his camera. “It was a gift from Maya. She said it was made in America! Cool, huh?”

“I’ve heard of them,” Ignatz remarked, utterly fascinated by the camera. “But I’ve never seen one up close before. Interesting! How does it work?”

“I don’t really know,” Raphael admitted. “I just look through this thing, press this button, and it makes some clicking. Lieutenant Falkenberg has somebody turn the film into pictures, and I send those back to Maya. She really likes seeing the stuff we see!”

Hoenigsberg nodded in agreement as he tore a piece of bread in half. “She writes all of us letters,” he added. “It’s the best part of mail call, really.”

“She reminds me a lot of my little sister,” Stanger chimed in. “Sometimes I forget Maya’s _not_ my sister.”

Ignatz suddenly got a bright look in his eyes as he lightly smacked Raphael’s shoulder. “Well, I have an idea! Let’s send her a picture of you and I together, then! She’d love that!”

“Oh yeah, that’s a _great_ idea! She’d be over the moon if she knew you and I were here right now!” Raphael stood up and handed off his camera to Wachsmuth. “Here, get a good one of us against the trench!”

Wachsmuth waited for Ignatz and Raphael to stand far enough away and put their arms on each other’s shoulder. “Okay, ready?” The two nodded, and with a simple squeeze Wachsmuth made the camera whiz and click mechanically for a while. He looked down at it after a minute or two had passed. “I think it’s done,” he said, passing it back to Raphael.

“So, you’re a photographer now, Raphael?” Ignatz asked.

“Sergeant Kirsten loves that thing,” Salzer commented. “When we got here, he took a dozen pictures of just us sitting in the trench. Who wants to see that?”

“My sister does!” Raphael answered. He decided to put the camera back in its case, securely setting it next to a box of ammunition in the trench wall. “Maya likes seeing your faces, after all.”

Ignatz laughed as he set up his paper and painting things. Even after all these years, some things never changed. “Well, I hope the picture comes out great, Raphael. Maybe I could make a painting of all of you one of these days!”

“May as well start now,” Rohmer said. “We aren’t getting any younger.”

Scheerbart emerged from the forward post rubbing his hands through his gloves. “Your turn, Salzer. What’s going on out here?”

Stanger yawned as she leaned back in the trench. “Captain Victor wants to turn us into a painting.”

“Hey, someone throw five Marks in the betting pool for me,” Salzer said as he got up and slung his rifle over his back. “Bet you the French start their duel at four.”

Ignatz looked up from his paint mixes with his brow furrowed. “Duel?”

“The French like to shoot at us every other day,” Rohmer explained. “Today’s the day they ought to start up again so we have a betting pool on when they start shooting. Wachsmuth is calling noon, Stanger said two, Salzer’s four, Hoenigsberg thinks they’ll go for a night run, Scheerbart’s betting on nine, and I’ve got my bet on six. Hey, Sarge, what’s your bet for today?”

Raphael winced as he shook his head. “I’d better not. I don’t want to tempt fate.”

“You sure?” Rohmer asked, frowning. “The pool’s up to fifty Marks now.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

Clearing his throat, Ignatz nodded and began to paint. “I can understand that mentality. Who can say what’s actually superstition and what could bring divine wrath upon you?”

“Say that again, Captain?” Stanger asked, lifting her helmet up to give Ignatz a quizzical look.

“With our war so close to being over I am more scared than ever before,” Ignatz admitted. Raphael could tell there was sadness and anxiety in his voice, but his brush strokes looked as steady as ever. “At last I can imagine a future. Not one with Germany as victors but one where I can see my family once again. So now the thought of dying terrifies me and I pray for a small leg wound and a cart ride all the way back to Berlin.”

Silence fell upon the trench. Raphael’s squad gazed at one another and even Salzer poked his head out from the post to give them a bewildered stare. To Raphael it looked like all of them were contemplating Ignatz’s words. Stanger pulled a cross necklace out from underneath her tunic as she softly kissed it and prayed for a short moment, while Rohmer stared at the trench floor. Wachsmuth shook his head in disbelief. “I think we all want that, _Herr Hauptmann,_ ” Scheerbart muttered.

The sound of Ignatz’s brush painting new strokes on his canvas soon filled the air as did the whistling winter breeze that passed over the trench. Despite the cold it was still a good day with the sun shining high above their lines with blue skies for miles around. Perfect day to laze about and wait for nothing to happen. At least two hours had passed before Salzer emerged from the forward post and handed off watch duty to Raphael. He was just about to step inside when distant booms echoed towards them. Raphael didn’t need to wait to know this was the sound of incoming artillery. He whipped back around to see Salzer had jumped up, clanging the bell to signal other trenches that an attack was incoming. One by one and in a rush, Raphael’s squad scrambled into the dugout built to protect them from artillery attacks like this one.

“Is this normal?” Ignatz asked as they hid in the concrete bunker.

“Should be over in an hour,” Stanger replied. She brushed some dirt off her uniform and shrugged. “Or, maybe the French got some more ammo and they’ll keep this up for _two_ hours. Who won the bet, by the way?”

Rohmer pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Three o’clock on the second. The money gets split between you and Salzer.”

Wachsmuth furrowed his brow as he shot Rohmer a dirty look. “What?! We didn’t split it last week!”

“Well, nobody bet with close times last week, remember? You had ten, Hoenigsberg had two. They started up at about noon.”

“Ugh, forget about it,” Wachsmuth muttered. “I’m gonna sleep for this. Wake me up when the French decide to stop wasting ammo.”

Raphael was well-used to these sorts of barrages. Usually the French sent down shells for about fifteen minutes, trying to wreck part of their lines or just cause a nuisance. Sure, the bombardments always knocked some stuff loose and half a trench was caved in after one attack, but it never amounted to anything. His squad settled in and waited, while Ignatz jumped and swiveled his head back and forth at each shell that landed.

“How long is this going to last?” Ignatz wondered aloud.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Hoenigsberg said.

Raphael leaned over, clamping down a hand on Ignatz’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Ignatz! We’ll get you out safe and sound!”

Fifteen minutes turned to thirty, and then forty-five as Raphael continuously checked his watch. This was going on a lot longer than usual and it was even so intense that Wachsmuth gave up sleeping. He raked his eyes across his squad and saw they were all thinking the same thing; something was up. After nearly fifty minutes, the artillery ended and they hesitantly stepped back into the trenches. A lot of wood and snow lay piled randomly in areas, and part of the concrete post’s roof was missing. Part of their trench had lost the wood holding the dirt back. Somehow, Raphael found his camera still intact.

“We should have made a side bet on how much ammo the French had,” Stanger commented as they took stock of their wrecked trench.

“Oh, shut up,” Wachsmuth said. He grunted as he kicked away a piece of wrecked wood. “None of us would have won anyway.”

Raphael squinted. He could have _sworn_ that he heard something. It was like something squeaking and squealed at once out in the snow. Was that a tractor he was hearing? Who the heck would be farming out in the middle of a warzone? The sun shining off all the snow made it harder to see than usual.

All at once, a wave of huge boxy metal things on rolling tracks bounded over a hill. Each one was painted a blueish gray, belching black smoke through the rear. All sorts of protrusions, either guns or some other thing, stuck out from nearly every side. As Raphael’s squad took positions in the trench step, he could hear them gasp in horror.

“Oh fuck,” Stanger sputtered. She took a step back and dropped her rifle, practically collapsing on the duckboards. “They’re real. Fuck, they’re real, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t right, this can’t be happening.”

“Stanger!” Wachsmuth yelled, whipping around and stepping down. “Come on, get a hold of yourself!”

“It’s not happening, it’s not happening,” Stanger whimpered. Wachsmuth tried to help her up, but she violently shoved him away. “ _Don’t fucking touch me!_ ”

Raphael jumped off and knelt next to Stanger. She was visibly shaking and her lips quivered, her head snapping back and forth looking for a way out. “Stanger, listen to me,” he said as softly as he could. “We’ll make it out of this alright. Just breathe, okay, breathe for me.”

“But the… those monsters…” Stanger mumbled, taking several deep breaths in between each half-finished sentence. “They’ll kill us all… kill us all…”

“Not on my watch,” Raphael countered. He held his hand out to her while Wachsmuth picked up her rifle. “Come on, we’ve got a battle to win.”

Stanger took one last deep breath, before nodding and taking Raphael’s hand. She stood up with a look of determination on her face as she took back her rifle, audibly swallowing as she rejoined the line. The steel machines were joined by a horde of French infantry clad in horizon-blue uniforms.

“There’s so many of them,” Ignatz said. “Where are our machine guns? Aren’t they shooting yet?”

“They’ll start up soon, Captain,” Rohmer chimed in. “I don’t think anyone expected an attack today.”

Scattered rifle fire emanated from their left and right. Distant pops and cracks snapped through the air in front of them. Raphael realized belatedly that the French were firing on the move, and the horrific protrusions on these machines were huge guns. One of them slowly moved to aim at them, firing a single shell that left a massive hole in the earth just in front of their trench. Dirt showered upon them as they ducked down.

“Fuck,” Wachsmuth yelled. “What are these things?!”

Raphael could only stare in horror as machine gun rounds bounced harmlessly off the machine’s steel. French infantry weaved in and around shell holes, guiding the things closer. All the while, the infernal racket they were making grew ever louder. Raphael could practically smell the gasoline burning even from here, and these massive steel constructs had to have been at least three hundred meters away. Raphael looked over to Ignatz. He seemed to be studying these things as his eyes darted back and forth.

“Give me your grenades!” Ignatz yelled, desperately searching for something. “ _Soldat_ Salzer! Give me that rope!”

“What?” Hoenigsberg asked.

“ _Just hand them over!_ ”

The squad handed over their grenades to Ignatz with some hesitation as he bundled them together with the rope. “Ignatz, buddy, what are you doing?” Raphael asked.

“How long’s the fuse timer on these grenades?” Ignatz asked as he pulled the metal caps off of the bottom of each grenade.

Raphael hesitated. Where was he going with this? “Uh, about four, five seconds I think? Why?”

With a determined expression on his face, Ignatz took a deep breath before meeting Raphael’s eyes. “Raphael, listen to me very closely. Your squad needs to stay here. Cover me while I take this thing out.”

“What?!” Raphael shouted. “Ignatz, are you insane?! There’s got to be a hundred of those things out there!”

“I know,” Ignatz said. “That’s why I need to do this alone. One man gets lost in the confusion, but a squad can be spotted by anyone. Stay here, Raphael, and let me do my job.”

Before Raphael could protest, Ignatz jumped out of the trench with the grenade bundle in his hands. Friendly artillery opened up and began to slam into the French at almost the same time. He could only stare, mouth agape, as Ignatz charged and dived into a crater. The French began to take cover as their monstrosities continued to roll forward unperturbed.

“Uh, S-Sergeant,” Scheerbart babbled. “Did Captain Victor just sacrifice himself?”

“What the fuck do we do now?” Stanger wondered aloud.

Raphael finally closed his mouth as he clenched his rifle’s stock tight. “Alright, listen up!” he commanded, turning towards his squad. “We’re going after him! We can’t cover Ignatz if we just sit in our trench!”

“Sergeant, Captain Victor told us to stay here!” Rohmer pointed out.

“I don’t care what he said! We’re going after him! End of discussion, _Soldat!_ ”

His squad glanced at one another for a few seconds, before each one gave a solid nod back to him. “Let’s do it,” Stanger breathed.

“For Germany, and Captain Victor!” Wachsmuth boasted.

“That’s the spirit!” Raphael shouted. “For Germany!”

 _“For Germany!_ ”

As one, Raphael and his squad rose up from the trench, sprinting as fast as they could towards the shell hole where Ignatz had dived into. Bullets snapped through the air as they ran. Explosions rocked nearly every part of their world. By now, Raphael was covered in dirt and snow. None of it mattered. He had to help Ignatz, no matter what.

* * *

_Hamburg, Germany_

_March 14 th, 1933_

As Dad finished his story, I dried my tears. He’d never much talked about the war, and I could see why now. If this was just one person’s experience, how did it go for all the people that never made it home? “Dad, I… wow,” I muttered.

“I wonder every day,” Dad said, staring at the picture. “What would have happened if Raphael hadn’t taken his squad out of the trench? Would I have survived, or would it have been a pointless sacrifice? They were killed by those tanks not even two minutes after they had jumped out, but if they hadn’t, could I have thrown that grenade?”

I reached out and rubbed Dad’s shoulder. It was the least I could do, after all. Dad had been carrying this guilt with him for years. “So, then Aunt Maya-”

“Is Raphael’s sister,” Dad finished. He handed the picture to me, pointing at Raphael. “This man is why I named you Raphaela. I couldn’t save him, but I can honor him in every way I know how.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why did Raphael do that? Why did he take his squad out of the trench?”

Dad’s face fell, and he looked down at the floor. “I can claim to not know, but I think I do. He always wanted to do what was right. When I told him to stand down, he couldn’t accept it. Didn’t think that was right. So he immediately did what he thought _was_ right, and that was to help me.” I watched Dad slowly look up and take a deep breath, like he was shoving every weight of that burden off his shoulders. “Never forget. War is a terrible thing. Your generation will likely face it at some point, but I sincerely hope you never have to see it. Do everything you can to be righteous, if not for yourself, then for him. Make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. That’s the motto I’ve lived by all these years.”

“I will, Dad,” I promised. My throat felt dry and scratchy. “Come on, let’s go cut that cake. Raphael wouldn’t want you to be sad on your birthday.”

Dad laughed, closing his eyes as he nodded. “Yes, you’re right. He wouldn’t have. Alright, let’s go, Raphaela.”


End file.
